HOW TO KILL INNOCENT PEOPLE & GET AWAY WITH IT...

  "Operation Cross Country." On 7-2-13 the F.B.I announced the arrests of up to 105 people allegedly involved in a child-prostitution ring. It’s no small wonder that I claim to have been enslaved & raped in some of the areas that the F.B.I. raided such as San Francisco, Detroit, Milwaukee, Denver and New Orleans. The Justice Department has estimated that nearly 450,000 children run away from home each year and that one-third of teens living on the street will be lured toward prostitution within 48 hours of leaving home according to the fine people at Mail.com.

  It’s only trivia to add the words of one of America’s fine senators. "In much of the country today if a girl is found in the custody of a so-called pimp she is not considered to be a victim of abuse, and that's just wrong and defies common sense," Sen. Ron Wyden, D-Ore., said during a Senate Finance Committee hearing last month.

  Who? What? When? Where? Why? I can only answer a few of them. You see… it all began one day in the summer of 72 (circa 1972).

  There I was, in a public school classroom and the world rippled around me. The children’s desks were all pushed up against one of the walls & I was surrounded by about 10 or so blond teenage boys & a single man in his 50’s with thinning light brown hair. He had one order. That I would shoot guns without end. Rifles, shotguns, & pistols at various targets in the classroom over & over & over & over… If I balked or moved too slowly the group would jump me en-mass & beat on me sorely. The classroom was otherwise like any other I’d suppose save for a single piece of furniture (should I call it furniture or appliance?), a set of stocks, you know, 2 vertical boards joined together with a single hinge with holes for a victim’s arms & head with a lock on the side opposite the hinge. As I shot the guns the teenagers loaded them. My nemesis asked me once. “Do you know why I don’t let you load the guns”? When I said no he smiled & said. “So that when you tell people this happened to you you won’t be able to load a gun & nobody will believe you”.

  Beatings were on the menu, particularly when I took the various guns & put them to the gang’s head (or other body part) & pulled the trigger. This made my smiling nemesis say to his blond brats. “Did you see that? He just tried to kill you”. Then I’d have to fight them. I lost against their massive numbers almost every time.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. It was never-ending & I was given no rest & my kidnappers acted in shifts, each taking their turn at “the drug table”. A table filled with small plates that held herbs, powders & pills in quantity.

  After a time the targets changed. People became the targets & I reluctantly shot at them. BANG! They’d flop over dead & then later get back up. Next it’d be me forced to shoot non-living targets & sometimes they’d burst into pieces as they changed it up by using real ammo. Person after person was brought in for me to shoot. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. Pain! Beatings! Then I’d inevitably shoot at one of the gang or my nemesis & they’d beat me & force me into the stocks en-mass. Then sodomized me. Me? I fought every single time which only made my nemesis laugh all the more. Then they injected me with who knows what & soon the shooting resumed. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. 1BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload.  Beaten down, drugged anew the world eventually faded after weeks? Months? I can’t say.

  I woke up at home absolutely drained both mentally & physically. It was awful! I pondered the situation before me. Was it real? Waa it a dream? I concluded that since the world rippled that I had been dreaming. The only other alternative was that my family had… well… I just couldn’t take much more of this, something had to give & I had to come up with a plan. There was no doubt in my mind that my dream nemesis had to die. Hmmm… how to do it? Ultimately I decided to let him think he’d broken me & get him to trust me. Then, I’d kill him & be done with him.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Weeks passed & all I did was shoot guns. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. Once, I remember that the group were all busy chatting & I was irritated at waiting for my reload so long. It was then that I pulled out the spent clip from the rifle & grabbed a magazine from the pile of clips, slammed it in & pulled back the bolt. CLICK! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! They all looked at me like they’d seen a ghost. I angrily said. It ain’t rocket-science”.

  Time passed… now the targets were young teenaged girls… in public, in the wood. We practiced shooting teenaged girls by shooting them from the passenger side of a stationary car. Me? I recall getting sick of playing Russian roulette with young girls. I angrily told him “I’m getting tired of shooting people with blanks”.

  “There’s not always blanks in the gun”. He bragged in the driver’s seat surrounded by blond teenaged boys. “I wait until you’re reliably shooting people & then I put real bullets in the gun”. Then he asked me to recall the last girl who’d taken several rounds to drop while she tried desperately to limp away.

  Me? I thought to myself all the more that this guy had to die!

  Back at the school… BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. By now you get the drill. This time was different. The Blond Brats brought in a very scared looking girl, about 15 by my estimation. She had that “15-year old but aged by horror” look to her. The gang slammed her against the wall, set up some cameras & my Nemesis pointed at her & ordered me. “Kill her”! While the Blond Brats smiled on.

  Me? I told him. “I’m tired of shooting people with blanks for you”.

  He insisted that there were real bullets in the gun but I’d been burned so often I told him I didn’t buy it. “Then someone give him a knife”. He said & the gang looked one to another & at his insistence one of them produced a knife & handed it to me. I turned to the girl who towered over 1972ish me. She looked like she tried to climb the wall, literally & turned to me & begged for her life. She begged…

  I told her. “It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m dreaming”.

  She insisted. “You’re not dreaming. Check it for yourself”.

  So I did… Uhhh the world rippled but it just didn’t feel right, I hesitated on their subject & just stood there. Pondering…

  Nemesis told me that of course I was dreaming. How could a situation like this happen if it wasn’t a dream?

  His saying tipped the balance. I walked up to her & she begged for her life all the more. I stopped.

  My Nemesis told me that the gang would beat me until I killed her.

  So I did. Reluctantly I lunged at her with the knife & she fought back. Me? I thought. “Slow & methodical. Slow & methodical”. I went with plan A for dealing with giants with a knife, I went for her wrists as she fought… she fought like a girl. In my other writings I wrote that I stabbed the victim to death when I should’ve written that I slashed them to death. I stabbed her to death, mostly body stabs once her hands became unusable. Then, when the deed was done I turned to see if I’d placated my Nemesis & his gang. They smiled & my nemesis ordered me subdued. The group began to form up.

  Me? I had a knife in hand & figured that since there were no blanks in a knife now was the time to kill Nemesis. So I told him he’d die.

  “You here that boys? Form a line in front of me and get him when he attacks”.

  I cursed myself for being so stupid as to tell him of my intentions. The group began to circle me so I attacked! I managed to stab one of them quite bad about his torso before being pinned & a syringe prepared.

  My Nemesis teased me. “You weren’t sleeping boy! You’re awake & now I’ve got film of you killing that girl. Now I can do anything I want to you for the rest of your life & no one’s going to care about it”.

  His Blond Brats joined him in mocking me & laughing & smiling. Ambulance men lifted the bleeding teenager into a gurney & carted him away the whole while.

  While a blond teenager prepared a syringe, another held my cuffed hands behind my back, & a few others picked up the body I asked my Nemesis. “I know you hate me and everything but will you answer me just one question”?

  He looked irritated that I’d made him quit laughing with "his boys”. "Hmm. Yeah. What”?

  “All I ask is that you tell me where you got that girl”?

  He thought about it. “She was just a runaway who trusted one of my boys here a little too much”. He said the girl was from far away, and attracted to the handsome teen who told her he’d hide her. He mocked on & on that she'd been a good girl from an affluent family who'd runaway over a petty curfew arguement, a fact that amused him all the more. While he was talking a smile grew on his face & he looked at one of them & the Blond Boy smiled from ear to ear with satisfaction & pride.

  Then I was injected & the world faded away…

  Later… BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Reload. I spent days shooting guns, gaining my nemesis’s trust. After a time I noticed that the targets tended to need a backstop more often… that my targets burst reliably when I shot them. So, while my Nemesis had turned his head & was laughing I put the gun to his left temple & pulled the trigger. BANG! Usually in my dreams targets linger on & on or fall to the ground slowly when I shot them but I was impressed at how quickly he went down. THUD! The Blond Brats all stood in unison with looks of terror on their faces. “You shot him”!

  “Yeah. I told him I was gonna do it one of these days. It doesn’t matter because I’m dreaming”.

  “No you’re not”! They insisted.

  The memory ends abruptly there.

  Later… in the future… My Cousin said to me. “You killed a good friend of mine & I’m going to take it out of your hide”.

  I just had to ask. “I know you hate me and everything but will you answer me just one question”?

  My Cousin looked intrigued & asked. “What”?

  “Why were all of the boys who were involved blond”?

  He explained that his friend had a thing for young blond teenaged boys. His freind's death would be avenged by my continued suffering. A thing he couldn’t help but get away with now that he had the film of me killing the begging teenaged girl.

  Then My Cousin brought up his weirdest factoid to date. "Remember that school field trip you just went on to that school in Tuscola"?

  "Yeah. I thought you said you wouldn't allow me to go on any field trips"?

  "The only reason why you went on that field trip was because that was the room where you killed that girl. Don't you remember? Why do you think they took your picture there? It was to establish that you were there so your accusations about how you got tortured at the school will seem insane". He mocked.

  I pondered the situation, it had been a school, a mile or so south of Essixville Michigan. They told me that the girl had been a good girl from a good family... she ran away over a cerfew dispute... it was the last thing she ever did.

  Does everyone have conversations like this or is it just me?

   Sometimes... I wonder... did the girl's soul make it to heaven? Or is she looking up at me from hell biding her time with the rest of the Child-Molestor's victims, waiting for the soul of whosoever she feels was responsible for her untimely demise to drop into hell? When I face her one day, give me the words I shall say oh wise ones amoung my readers. If this thing should become public give me the words to say to her family oh wise ones when they scream at me about how much of a good girl she was. Go figure...

  I’m sorry.

 

  AFTER THE CAPTAIN OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM'S FINAL INSULT... It hurt me bad... emotionally... Really really bad...

  I was devastated after the death of the Captain Of The Football Team. His final word had been "idiot". The Child-Molestors were kidnapping torturing & raping me with impunity & the... cops wouldn't even give me the courtesy of a police report. People were dying, kids were dying & no one cared. Add in the anguish & the horror that a lifetime of torture at the hands of madmen can do to you & I was at the edge. No one would help me; no one would even listen to me. I always figured that a dumb plan was better than no plan so I came up with a new idea to get my case into court. It seemed brazen, stupid even but I was at my wits end. So I did it. The plan failed... of course... but I had to try. I had to do "something", "anything" to get this into court. Anything! I figured the cops could use voice-stress analysis to determine that I was lying & then they'd give me a fair investigation (yeah, I'd been pushed that close to the edge). So I went from place to place bragging about the murders. I made no mention of the Child-Molestors nor implicated anyone but myself. My Buddy helped me; he thought it was a good idea.

  We went from place to place...

  Telling anyone who'd listen that I did it...

  I made certain to laugh about it...

  Over & over...

  The Child-Molestors bragged they followed me & gotten some great footage. "We'll send the films in anonymously". Duh...

  "Lots of people called the cops but Dirty Cop was there to intercept them & told them to ignore you".

  I'm sorry... I just couldn't take the pressure any more... I was just a kid...

 

  Exodus 20:12

  King James Version (KJV)

  Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

 

  ME... Very recently...

  Me? Today I'm depressed, there's very little optimism left in me... very little (I keep some optimism hidden in the bottom left corner of my heart). I've tried to tell the truth about the trials & tribulations of my life, hoping to provoke an honest police response to save my life. Unfortuantely, it doesn't look good for me. Failure is something I've learned to live with. I've always lost, I seem to be losing even now, and the odds look good that I will indeed always lose. Eh, it's a gift.

  I wonder what will become of me? I'd suppose those privy to my kidnappers can probably expect to see some great films starring... me. The Child-Molestors brag they'll  spare no expense breaking me during my next torture session & that the way they've discretely crippled my limbs will make my next painfest an epic life-changinjg evnt garaunteed to amuse even the hardest to please sadists. True? Idano...

  I'd like to think I've gotten the police to at least consider my tale, but the only e-mails I ever got were from police telling me that they had no intention of even reading what I have to say, let alone acting on it for a less than nobody like myself.

  Man, I was really really hoping police would help me to avoid another torture session. I even dared to dream of a life without rape, a chance to rest in America from the endless provoking that is my life. Eh, if you're gonna dream, dream big.

  Me? I'd suppose this is it... I fully intend to go on, trying to live what I suspect is the short time I have left as a "walking American". The pain from their torture session is growing to crippling levels now.

  Me? I'll always recall that day in "The Gym" when Duh Jerk addressed my 60+ attempted murderers. "I've got to make his story more unbelieveable". I'll testify for him. "It works. In my experience... cops seem to be absolutely convinced that there isn't a crook out there with the half a brain it'd take to aproach crime thusly". "As long as we keep targeting you and the people in your life & never give up the cops will say you're crazy". As near as I can tell, I never had a chance. I'll say this to sceptics. "I want to live"!

  I guess it sucks to be me, and the Child-Molestors brag that it always will.

  America the Great! It all happened in America. America, The United States of America. The greatest country on earth. Maybe the greatest country of all time. God bless America!

  "As God is my witness". If these words are your only defense then I suspect that in America there's a good possiblity that you're in a lot of trouble. Me? I'll say it like this. "Blessed be the name of the Lord". My prayer is thus. "Dear Lord, please don't let me be kidnapped raped or tortured again. Please? Forgive me of my sins as I forgive others. Give me widom in dealing with the Police, Duh Jerk, Duh Weasel, The Mayor's Brat, Just Desserts, Short Stuff, & the rest of the Child-Molestor gang. I pray for wisdom in dealing with the courts, with my family. I pray for wisdom in inventing clever devices. I pray for the President, I pray for the Governor, I pray for Duh Jerk, Duh Weasel, The Mayor's Brat, Just Desserts, Short Stuff, & the rest of the Child-Molestor gang".

  Me? I'm in pain & it's only getting worse... slowly, just like they bragged. Who will help me? Who do I turn to?

  That's it, I'm losing the strength to go on writing about this... If I had one uderstanding shoulder to cry on, I know I could be strong, I just know it. Eh, I'll probably spell-check this page soon & that'll be it. I've tried to get help & failed & no one's going to help me.

  The Child-Molestors boast that I'll be starring in a few more child-porn films for them. What is proper ettiquite? Shouldn't I just cave into torture quickly? Smile on command during the filming? What about the dedication? Shouldn't all good child-porn flicks have a dedication? Eh, I suppose I'll dedicate it to the fine men & women of law-enforcement who I've begged for help from... if the Child-Molestors are so inclined that is.

  Man, I've published this page for over a year now and contacted people all over the world, how come not a single person has tried to contact me, let alone offered to help me spell check the website or anything? I thought America was supposed to be a helpfull sort of country?

  Game over.

  Why me? Why? Ow...

 

  THE GREAT ESCAPE II CONTINUED... Yeah, right...

  The Uniformed Bay City... cop shouted authoritatively. "BAY CITY POLICE ! EVERYONE GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR"!

  The perverts looked to each other and one of them remarked they should lie on the floor and await the police. Like dogs circling a spot to bed down they either laid down or joined together to move the heavy coffe table aside and laid there.

  The moment I saw their eyes were off of me I hatched a plan... I stepped up to the door and hid on the inside by the hinges.

  There I was wedged betwween the door and the wall, the door had just hit me, HARD! WHAM! A room full of perverts had dropped to the floor as the Bay City... cops stormed in and I could tell that the gun-wielding madman Dirty Cop himself was the... cop's "point man"! Cops were yelling at everyone to "GET DOWN"! & "GET ON THE FLOOR"! A gang of madmen had set me up and I figured this was where Dirty Cop would shoot me dead as his personal revenge for "The Gym".

  Me? As soon as those... cops entered the room I walked around the door and stepped outside. I figured that the body language of me trying to run away would alert the plethora of... cops holding citizens at bay in the dark night of what I suspect was Bay City's "Banks area". So I immeadiately turned around and began gawking inside, hoping... well, hoping...

  Inside the... cops quickly cuffed the perps, one of wich loudly said. "You may arrested me. But at least you arrested David George too"!

  Dirty Cop spoke up. "David George ins't here. I know David George. He must be under one of the couches. Here help me lift this up". I could hear the sounds of heavy furniture being flopped about the room & actually saw them flop the couch over with guns drawn on anyone who might be beneath it. "He's not here! He must be hiding in one of the closets. Fan out and search for him"!

  Just then a uniformed Bay City... cop walked up to me, pointed and said. "You were in there"! He accused me of having just escaped the home.

  I told him. "No. I was over there (I pointed to a spot behind the police lines) and now I'm over here". I explained as quickly and calmly as I could that I wanted a close up spot to watch the unfolding action which amounted to them upending furniture and tearing up the place.

  The Bay City... cop who was standing in the darkness told me. "You cant be here". He told me to leave.

  So I did.

  Needless to say the Child-Molestors were furious. Or so they told me. The gang had chosen to prosecute me anyway but they lamented that not a single... cop had gotten a good look at me. Now that I'd made fools of the Child-Molestors revenge was on the menu.

  Tell me oh wise ones among my readers. Tell me ye wise what do you suppose would've come of my life if I hadn't run and instead chosen to stay and reason with the nice... cops?

  Yeah, whatever...

 

  OPEN MURDER... BAY CITY... cop style... Yeah, they would...

  Sooo... there I was splayed out on Bay City's Veteran's Memorial Bridge in broad daylight. A semi-truck was coming and I figured I didn't have the time to recover from the fall And make it to the curb! The end was nigh!

  Eh, I suffer from a medical condition that's side-effects are that one's thought processes are speeded up. For me, in a crisis situation the world slowed down and all was serene (eh, there had to be one guy like that in the world, didn't there?), usually, but not always (I wouldn't bet my life on it or anything).

  The world slowed down, I realized that there was no way I was getting back to the siling madman who'd shoved me before that truck splatted me. So I hatched a quickie plan. A dangerous plan because it occured to me that I couldn't see into both lanes because the truck blocked my view, so I took a gamble.

  I used my momentum to roll further into the lane and the semi-truck missed me by mere inches! I lept up only to see a marked Bay City... cop car pull up in the oppisite lane of traffic!

  The gun-wearing Dirty Cop emerged from the car while the obligatory ambulance drove past us. He asked me. "Is everything okay here"?

  Me? Personally I know that the gang boast that it is the accusations of thier victims, when twisted around by thier polished and highly practiced gangbangers (ie: member/victims or victim/members) that are their victim's undoing. So I told Dirty Cop. "No".

  Sooo... in typical Child-Molestor fashion my attepted murderer showed up to confront me. "Don't try nothing because there's a van-load of jocks just waiting around the corner to kick your ass".

  Eh, it sounded believeable, so I just listened to my Attempted Murederer Who Claimed To Have Been Sent By Duh Jerk. He baoasted that it mattered not if I'd died or lived with minor injuries that day because the gang had an ambulance right there to kidnap me and kill me with a lethal injection on the spot. Then, the gang's Dirty Coroner would back up a "died in a car accident" story, CASE CLOSED!

  Me? I told my Attempted Murderer. "I would've refused to get in the ambulance". His plan wouldn't have worked.

  Not so he bragged. Dirty Cop was there and he'd've been the first... cop on the scene making the case completely under his authority. That and with all of his many films of us interacting during my many kidnappings he would've claimed to have been my friend, and that I'd been rendered delerious by the accident, thus forcing him to subdue me for the ambulance crew.

  "The guys in the bridge tower might'a seen it all". I countered, probably in vain.

  "We own all of the bridge watchtower workers. They would've testified that they didn't see a thing or that you were at fault".

  When he said that I recalled a conversation Duh Jerk had with me way back in fall of 1976 when he tried (unsuccessfully) to recruit me into the Child-Molestors. "We own all of the bridge operators in town. The ability to cut the city in half cannot be understated". He boasted it allowed them to commit crimes with impunity, to help gangbabngers evade the police, and to enable them to corner thier victims in traffic. Personally? I'd like to apologize to said workers here and now for even repeating what some madmen slurred against them and ask them to realize that a madman can say many thing, and that what professional liars do all day is professionally tell lies (a factoid that seems to be too difficult of a conept for the fragile minds of mid-Michigan... cops to bear).

  "You know that we reflect the accusation of our victims back at them so Jerk asked me to ask you why you didn't accuse me of trying to kill you when a cop was clearly there to see the entire thing"?

  "I knew better than to accuse anyone of anything when Dirty Cop would be the officer in charge. I ain't that stupid".

  Author's note: I'd suppose that it was merely a coincidence that my attempted murder happened withing view of the place where many, many people died in the infamous Wenona Hotel fire.

 

  JERK WORMED HIS WAY FINANCIALLY INTO A MALL IN WISCONSIN... I forget what it was supposed to be named... Don't much care either...

  Soooo... there I was, sitting on my Michigan Street bed in Bay City... alone, like usual. Armed only with the advice given me by many people, "go to the cops". Uhhh... yeah, that trick never works. The 2nd, "try to reason with them". Yeah, and my loyal readers thought the 1st plan was bad. The next advice? Kill... start killing. Advice given to me by people on the street, people I'd met, kids at school, businessmen, many, many... cops (in uniform and at their post), Kill... snuff out lives... end lives, destroy all hope for an attacker to ever enter Heaven for the selfish upon selfish reason of saving my life... the gang was driving me to the edge, if it was only to save my life I could endure their horrors. But the gang were pushing me to the edge of madness. Death? They threatened me with death before.

  "Now you have to kill an innocent of my choosing or we will kill you".

  My reply? "Go ahead".

  So they changed it, while working in shifts. "Now you have to kill an innocent of my choosing or we'll drive you insnae".

  You know what oh laughing Mid-Michigan and Boulder Colorado... cops? It was working. Oh, I never let them know that. And now sitting on my bed I had to make a choice. I was an athiest. Death? It meant oblivion to me, the inevitable. Madness? The thing the gang bragged would hand them victory?

  Let me say it like this... cops. I never believed a word any of them ever said ever (unlike you and the paid informants they brag they regularly feed you), I figured that the next time would be the last. If the gang didn't kill me for what I'd done up and until now, surely this next time they were going to kill me for sure. Busting up kids merely created dedicated enemies who swore revenge and claimed to have the singular ability to motivate other gangbangers. I wanted no more people swearing vengence, I resolved to make witnessses to the scene of the killing. So I resolved to kill anyone who kidnapped me no matter who they were. Children were the soldiers of the gang and they've allways bragged it is their use against me that will destroy me. Now, I considered them to be legitimate targets. Anything... ANYTHING so I could just maybe escape the gang just one time, maybe to cheat death for a single day... maybe for only an hour. I wanted to live! That's it... I just wanted to live. Even now... I want to live. I pray... I want to live.

  When you get stalked for decades by a gang of madmen... feel free to judge me reader.

  I wondered if I'd be waiting long? I didn't wait long to be kidnapped again. How'd they catch me? Idano... does it matter?

  The gang work in shifts. Victims are ideally drugged stupid and children tasked with slapping and pushing them every few seconds to keep them awake while a "Dr." monitors the show. Time? Aproximately 3 1/2 hours I'm told. Then they are transpored to the designated torture area. Skits are applied, palys, dramas, ideally based on parts of the victim's life and hobbies. A whore(s) has been inserted into theirr life, they are "the Handler" and help to calm victims who may go manic, and to provide a trusting face. This goes on 15 minutes. Then the victim is returned to their cell and the whole drama repeats. They tell me the ideal number of victims is 7, it provides for generous breaks for the team and allows them time to work with a given victim longer in the case of any breakthrough or change in their... uhh... "case"?

  They tell me they specialize in picking on government workers, like the Bay City DOW, and primarilly prey on people about to go on vacation. But that their Dirty Dr.s in Forceable rape Hos... I errr... I nmean Bunga Bunga Hospital arrange for "accidents" to befall a given victim, they go into comas, are even drugged and paraded in front of the vicitm's family, and then taken to a secure spot to be tortured when the family is satisfied their loved one is in good hands.

  They tell me I'm a special case... the gang's "get out of jail free card". You... cops allways fall for it too. Or so they brag. Me? They boasted I'd just been kept on the edge of sleep deprivation for weeks... and the torture begins there.

  They brought in this gal, 5' 2" or so. On the thin side of chunky, and she took off her glasses often. And a black-haired guy about my age height and weight, in decent shape, decent... They provoked me over and over. Later they bragged her dad was part owner of a mall in Wisconsin... True? Idano? To be cont.

 

  THE DESTRUCTION OF THE CASS STREET BRIDGE CHANGED THE GROUP DYNAMIC...

  Sooo... there I was, miding my own beeswax, walking through the marina, about to use the river to clean myself up, maybe even get my face wet to facilitate clearing my head. Why? Because I'd just come from an extended mental and physical torture session that left me dazed and covered in blood from head to toe.

  As soon as I came into view in the marina a pair of me in thier 30s-40s, were on me. "Are you okay? Do you need any help"? When I turned them down they seemed to freak out while I stared at the dismally low water (in comparrison to the docks) and pondered if jumping in might kill me in my exhausted and nearly delerious state. One of them jumped into a car and sped south while the other kept trying to engage me in conversation.

  Ultimately some mid-30s guy, stocky a bit on the big side began to demand answers of me as I walked south in the marina. I refused to talk to him based on the fact that the previous men had said all of my answers were delerious, I didn't want any "probable cause" floating around there and then. That's when he ran ahead of me and announced. "You're obviously delerious and covered in blood. I am going to subdue you for your own good". Then he reached for me with both arms out.

  I grabbed his right arm (my "go to move"), locked it in place, and broke it. Then I kicked his knee with all of my might and he dropped. I figured I broke his arm but when I turned around to look at him he was holding his right knee with both arms and seemed quite distressed.

  It was then that I saw Dirty Cop himself in the distance talking with someone who was pointing my way. So I hid behind some boxes while he circled....

  There, a guy, about my age stood nearby and commented on my condition. I explained my situation in 30 words or less and asked him for help missdirecting the dirty cop. So he did. He pointed the other way and told him I'd surely gone thataway. So I thanked him and left south hoping to get to water I could stand in, so I could clean myself up. Sigh...

 

   Perfecting the technique... or whatever it was supposed to be called... I forgot and don't feel like looking the title up...

  lLets start this at My Roommate's place, not long after I got out of the Navy. I was sitting on my bed... recalling the recent string of kidnappings by the gang. Every other weekend lately by my estimate. How'd they catch me? How long was I gone? What did they do to me? What drugs did they use? Poisons? They adore torture at the Defunct Hospital surrounded by an array of medical supplies and address severeral "technical experts" during torture as "Doctor" and such. What did they do to me? How long can this go on before they carve me up medically and with poisons like they brag they allways do to their victims. What about the child-porn sessions? The torture sessions? How to end them?

  I had a lot of things on my mind in circa 1989... lots. The biggest concern was the torture. Particularly the smack and push game of keepaway the gang is so fond of. Duh Jerk and sent "snitches" had been bragging that the smacking sessions by middle school kids would be all the proof he, they ever needed to prove that I was a wimp... that "The Gym" couldn't possibly have happened. Thus the gang allways insured their safety by drugging me and having wuss after tough guy beating me up... on film. That and the inescapeable fact that if I was half as tough as I was claiming to be I'd just kill them all and be done with them. "I ain't no murderer". I replied.

  The cops couldn't stop laughing. Local protection services refused to help me. My friends simply changed the subject and told me I was on my own when I asked for help. My family... well... they had clear guidelines on wich side they were on my entire life, and it wasn't my side.

  Hmmm... what to do? What to do? I needed people on my side. Not attackers... witnesses to the scwene of the crime. So I hatched an idea. Until now, during lucid moments I was reluctant to defend myself against children. I tried to reason with them and tried everything I could to spare them injury whenever possible. Yeah... they mocked me and swore hatred and bragged about how much they hated me because of the films they'd seen of me. And... I'd... had... enough...

  SO I hatched a plan. Children were now fair game. I'd try to spare their lives... but combat was now on the table.

  How'd that work out? Not so good. I became lucid during another (probably scripted) keepaway session. Then I just started beating on children with everything a 260lbs man who bikes 300 miles a week could do. I broke bones. Lots of bones before the ever-present Jocks jumped in and subdued me.

  Duh Jerk and the 4 Stars told me they loved it. Now they had great footage of me busting up kids to influence their friends and victims & the... cops later.

  Jerk and the 4 Stars made it a point to bring the kids back in afterwards. Most wore casts on one or more parts of their bodies. The children told me they hated me, and promised revenge. So did people they brought in who said they were in their family.

  Yeah, the... cops helped... THE GANG! Another story.

  Sooo... I sat on my bed again... recalling the faces of the children... recalling drug(s?) dilluted memories of their faces. How a little girl cried, threatening revenge over being crippled by me. Bonus... the... cops love tales like that... Laugh laugh laugh...

  The gang bragged the children were all from different Child-Molester controlled communities. I could report injuring kids all I wanted and their Dirty Doctors in other cities would cover for the gang. The parents could pay for revenge... or not.

  So I hatched another plan. I didn't want child victims pledging eternal hatred. I wanted witnesses to the scene of the crime. So I decided I'd kill any child who was engaged in kidnapping and torturing me whenever the situation arose just like I did with adults. But the problem was those pesky fleeting moments. I have a way around that, I just pre-program myself. I repeat over and over again in my mind what to do when the situation comes up. It rarely worked and as the years went by it's worked less and less. Sigh...

  Still... every other weekend or so...

  SNAP! A little girl dies. Next time. SNAP! A little boy dies. Oh... I didn't kill him. Just like a few other times the "Dr." pronounced the child was alive after the snap. They ordered the child to be left lying on the basement floor, to die. Lest he live a long life with paralysis.

  I thought I was clever... witnesses. I wanted witnesses.

  The gang sent "snitches" to brag that they'd used the "Date rape drug" on the children en-mass after the deaths and erased all of their memories (mine too... if possible) and told them later that their classmate had died in a car accident. Parents would be shown the films and asked if they wanted to pay for revenge. "Hey I'm net a murderer like him but I'll kidnap him and troture him as revenge for killing your kid for ___(insert amount here)____ ". Failing to pay for revenge they too would take the gang's drug(s?). Paying for revenge only levaves the victim with less money and the gang uses the film to blackmail them all the more. "Hey... how'd you like to see his rape and torture? Maybe even hit him a few times"? Later... they all hear, eventually. "I've got these films of you paying us to kidnap and rape this guy and you helping us torture him. Now we will talk terms". Another grieving family goes down the drain of society. Worse? They brag the gang later offers them. "How would you like revenge against the guy who got you recruited and killed your kid"? And another family is all too greatfull to promise the gang anything to further my demise. Be it participating in kidnapping me, or testifying later. Or both.

  I wonder... just how many live I may have helped them snuff out that I don't recall? Sigh...

  I'm still not done. We still aint discussed the later long long long session... the one that ened with. "Jerk wormed his way financially into a Wisconsin mall". The death count is not done yet, and I'm still a long way from a body count and rape total as of March 2016... but I just don't feel like writing anymore.

  A highlight? Sure, as if one more sentence would save me. "That girl you killed's Father owned a lot of property in Wisconsin".

  "Wich one"?

  "The chunky blond with glasses. You know she didn't wear glasses right? We just had her wear them so the cops would say you were crazy when you told them she wore glasses".

  "She didn't allways wear the glasses. She took them off becasue she said her eyes hurt".

 

  "As long as I toy with my victims when I try to kill them I can do anything I want to them because to most people if I wanted to kill my victims I would. But I like toying with them. If we don't get you this time maybe we'll get you next time". I've heard various versions of this sentence my entire life.

​

  THE FIFTH UNARMED MAN... Flattery will get you nowhere but bragging can get you a one-way ticket straight to Hell... really!!!

  Soooo... there I was... recovering from the drugs and only a few minutes respite from the sleep deprivation. It's awful! Not at all easily bearably and a minor inconvenience like... boasting... cops brag to me. It's debilitating. It impairs a victim's judgement, and it's just plain old not fun. The gang brag to me it puts victims in a frame of mind where they are convinced they are dreaming while they are actually awake. What does this achieve? It lets the gang get people to do things they'd only do in their lives.

  The gang have repeatedly bragged I'm a "once in a lifetime find". A victim among victims? Why? I can only tell you what they laughingly tell be while standing over the bodies of slowly dying children. Because they brag they found a drug, or combination of drugs where, I say yes to everything. I've read medical books, the books told me that there are indeed such people out there. Cops summed it up to me like this. Yes, there are tons of people in the world like that & they are all too glad to unquestioningly prosecute every single rape victim thus plied by madmen to do evil deeds solely for amusement & profit.

  What's my point? My point is it sucks to be anyone around me when they've tortured & drugged my mind into that "sweet spot". Cheer up readers, if you're reading this you probably wont die by my hand, statistically speaking. It's children, the helpless, & the people who they can kill to leverage profit from someone else who will die. Usually. They brag there is a lot of random recreational killing too, better hope YOUR number doesn't come up reader. Jerk told me he prefers to pick on honest, hard-working people. They have no idea why they were targeted & are unlikely to do any reprisal if the gang are somehow caught. "You start messing with trouble-makers and you're going to be in a whole bunch of trouble (we were chatting about his "framing" victims to seem to be KKK, Nazis, Commies, & right-wingers (very popular frame-up, I hear lefties cant resist it & are soon victims themselves), I prefer to mess with the sheep. Honest people. They're easier".

  We were in Downtown Detroit. The gang, the 3 of the 4 Stars, Jerk, a fake ambulance AND crew, a teen boy & girl camera team, & a few Jocks with Uniformed & allegedly on-duty Bay City... cop Dirty Cop himself! They presented papers to the Detroit... cop that they owned me. "If you don't believe me call his Mother. Call his Father if she's not home".

  I tried to duck out the back while they chatted on the logistics of subduing me but the doors were securely... & I mean securely locked. So I looked around for an alternate route.

  The 5th Unarmed Man cornered me, alone. Standing in the doorway I leaned over & could see the gang chatting with Detroit's finest. So I backed into the room to escape. He shadowed me, bragging on how he was there to make sure I didn't escape. With a single yell he could summon an army & the... cops would help him beat me into a crippling with the gang if I resisted.

  I tried to reason with him. Tried to tap into his humanity, pity, empathy. I discussed what he was doing was wrong & why.

  He told me he loved the Child-Molestor life. Torturing victims, like me was entertainment & when I asked him he told me he intended to do it to as many people as he could for the rest of his life.

  Me? Lets say... I looked "narrowly at him" when he told me he wanted to torture innocent victims for the rest of his life. I pictured the men, women & children he bragged he'd tortured & robbed. Then I pictured the even longer line of such people & the unborn victims who were next on his evil "to-do list". Grrrrrr...

  Then I acted like there was someone behind him in the doorway. At the time of this writing I forget my actual words but it was much like. "I told you guys I'm not going with you".

  He turned around to greet his team to find no one there and we me alone behind him.

  He raped me, and bragged he loved it, he tortured me, and bragged he loved it, people died, and be bragged he's get even with me for that, he'd bragged he would torture innocent victims for the rest of his life... FOR FUN!

  So I killed him. It took quite a while actually. He died slow.

  We went outside... the... cops were very interested in chatting on the radio about subduing me.

  It gets very fuzzy from here as time goes on...

  We left... together...

  They told me the gang intended to destroy me but a paranoid Martin "Duh Jerk" Oak was to scared because ALLLLLL of our names were on the radio tying us to the scene of the crime. They needed time to cover it up, find out who saw what, who knew what, & erase witnesses. That & they needed time for it to gloss over... for people to forget... for them to commit much evil there so the man's death was just another day in the life to those who lived there.

  Pity... remorse? Who shall I pity more oh wise ones among my readers? Him? Self-professed torturer of the innocent (he told me he loved raping & torturing innocent people) or the people he bragged were destined to be his next victims? What do you say to a man who you will probably meet on Judgement Day who can look you right in the eye & scream? "YOU SENT MY SOUL TO HELL FOREVER"! Maybe... I'll say a few of the people who would have been his victims just might have lived better lives? I don't suppose they all form a line & thank me?

  They also brag that at least part of his death was filmed & that his slow, lingering death will make for great evidence against me. They told me the man's family hates upon hates me (the film of their loved one dying).

  I was impressed when they kept bringing it up over the years. That this was the case that would surely put me before a corrupt Molestor-controlled jury in the city with the huge Satanic Child-Hugging statue. A land know for it's fairness. Just ask anyone anywhere if they want "Detroit Justice". I wrote the story in more detail & sent it off to... The F.B.I. who has declined to acknowledge the effort.

  Didn't I even call the F.B.I.? Who can recall every single time a bunch of child-molester apologists reject you out-of-hand anyway?

  Whatever...

  Yeah, whatever...

  

​

  Kill... Kill... Kill... sometimes it's all I do when I go to the big city...

  Sooo... there I was... walking briskly out of some warehouse... I had no idea where I was, how I got there, nor why I was briskly leaving. None. Nada. Zip. Not a clue. A group of men, lower-class men came rushing out of the warehouse and one of them pointed at me and shouted. "STOP THAT GUY"!

   In a moment of time the horrors that had recently happened to me came flooding back into my mind and I assessed the situation before me. I was at a warehouse and these men were recreational killers who were betting on how long it would take me to die. I had escaped them, had a gun, and they told me men with machine guns were stationed outside to kill anyone who might escape. Whew!

  One of the men pointed one of the submachine guns at me and took aim prompting an older guy to shout. "DON'T SHOOT THAT WEAPON IT"S GOT A BENT BARREL"!

  He shot that gun. There's a sicking scream a man can make whenhe has been maimed or mortally wounded and after the shot that man made it. BANG! "IEEEEEEE"!!!!!

  I took off running and bullets began landing at my feet coming from windows above. In a moment of time my Navy Combat Training came back to me & I had a flashback. I recalled being in a classroom with an instructor who asked the class what you should do if confronted by a tank when you only have a rifle? He told me that you shoot the tank with your rifle. The idea is that you make the other guy nervous so his aim just might be off. "Besides, you never know if you'll get lucky and actually hit a periscope & spiderweb it or something and make it so they cant shoot you". So I fired off a few rounds at the windows & took off running.

  Run! Run! RUN! Until I could run no more... then I jogged through the city... impressed that I'd ran a long, long way and there seemed to be no end to the city.

  My memory resets... I have no idea where I am nor how I got there...

  People come up to the gasping wretch that I was and deduce that I'm drugged out of my mind. The police are called.

  A Detroit(?)... cop shows up and demands my personal information. When I discuss the kidnapping, torture, and drugging he announces that surely I'm a simple junkie, and I now have 3 options.

  1) Go to jail... probably beaten because of my announced intention not to get into a... cop car.

  2) Go to a nuthouse... where I'd surely be locked up for 3 or more days.

  or...

  3) Go to a nearby homeless shelter and "sleep it off".

  Hmmm... I really did ponder the choices... in the end I chose what was behind door number 3.

  The horror continues... I'm just sick of writing about it for now... so I'm leving the reader hanging... sorry. Sometime I just don't have the strength to write stuff I suspect will only make... cops laugh harder and longer at my inevitable mocking session.

  Other times I'm just not inclined to begin my 100 Life sentences and decade on death row over dozens of death peanlties.

  GULP!

​

  IN THE BEGINNING... THE MOTHER OF ALL STORIES... Continued... It's only proof that it sucks to be me, & it always has...

  Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... I was thinkin of finishin "In The Beginning". As if I hadn't already written tons of ammo for any dozen Dirty... cOPS or half-dozen Dirty Prosecutors to destroy me with ease already. I suspect their description of me could be summed up in 2 words. "Easily dispatched". Sigh...

  I had such high hopes at one time. That I'd get... cops to investigate my claims & free me from my lifelong burden of being kidnapped raped & tortured regularly by a gang of madmen for profit & revenge. I prayed a lot. I went to police all over the country. The Feds, even to NATO, and law enforcement agencies all over the world & begged for help. Not a thing worked. Not one. From the bottom lowliest social worker to... cops, Agents, soldiers, & even asking God, not a thing worked. There is no force in all the universe willing to save me as of 5-21-18. It's only proof that it sucks to be me.

  I already wrote the ending... so here goes the beginning. Whatever...

  So there I was, being cradled in My Mother's arms (Honor honor honor), we were in the living room of My Mother's Parent's. The sparsely furnished back then, couch, TV, table & various odds & ends. My Mother & all her siblings & her Parents were all there. So was the man they called "My Cousin". I became lucid & I recall wondering why it was so hard to concentrate? Who were these people? Where was I? Then the information flooded back into my mind. These were My Mother & her siblings. Her Parents too. My Mother told me it was a very special day for me. A reporter was coming to interview me.

  I had to ask what a reporter was & then asked why would a reporter want to talk to me?

  The family replied it was because I'd begun talking at a very young age.

  I called them all liars & told them I didn't believe any of it.

  It was here My Cousin walked in. He announced he'd stopped the reporter. There would be no interview.

  I asked why he would do that?

  He said it was because he hated me.

  He asked me if I knew why the curtains were closed. Why the curtains were closed everywhere I went?

  I told him I had no idea why?

  He told me it was because he didn't want me to know anything about the outside world. That he'd gone to great lengths to make sure I was ignorant of the outside world. Yeah... he was like that. So was my family. Oops... I feel like throwing in a few honors here. (Honor Honor Honor, Honor Honor Honor).

  Yeah, he slapped me up but good. My family laughed at it, I wrote that part elsewhere. But picture him & I going back & forth. He slapped me 3 times & in truth my family only laughed at the 1st 2 slaps. I'll write the slaps down so people can keep up.

  Slap! He hit me on the face & I heaved in My Mother's arms. The family all laughed & laughed.

  SLAP! He hit me again. Harder. The family nervously laughed. It still counts as having laughed twice at my baby pain.

  SLAP! My Cousin hauled off & belted me! He thought it was hilarious... so did his #2 I didn't mention before now. Okay, keeping up?

  The memory breaks up here & fades away. It's all written in better detail in my letter to the F.B.I.

  My Cousin slaps me awake. SLAP! It begins in some darkened office-type building, maybe an apartment furnished like an office, most likely a mid-Michigan Public School. All guesses, I have no idea where I was. My Cousin & some man I didn't recognize.

  My Cousin, in so many words, announced his undying hatred of me.

  I had to ask why he could hate a baby so much? It seemed like a reasonable question to me?

  Because I was such a disappointment. In his words he told me when I was still in the Hospital, 2 days after my birth I was already specking a few words. He saw the potential for me to be a very profitable sex slave at that time. "A walking & talking baby is every pervert's sexual fantasy" & he figured he could make a fortune pimping baby me to the highest bidders. With contempt he said something like. "But you became a Christian". "I told your family to report back to me your progress in talking & I didn't see you for a few weeks. By then you could walk & talk and you were already a Christian". He remarked it seemed impossible, being My Mother was a loyal... "one of them". "She regurgitated all the stuff she learned in catechism when you asked her about God". "It was too late. You were already a Christian". He was very... angry with me. I was a complete loss. He remarked now I'd never willingly preform the "sexual acts" that would make him his fortune.

  I told him how would he know? I'd never been asked.

  So he asked me. "Will you preform sexual acts for me"? Author Question: Who talks like that to a baby? I predict PRACTICAL joke for lack of a better term. A situation where they act absurdly or pose weird or perverse question to make... cops laugh.

  I had no idea what sexual acts were. Not even a slight clue. So I asked him. "Are sexual acts against the Bible"?

  He told me they were against God & the Bible.

  Still having no idea what any of it meant I told him. "Then I wont do sexual acts".

  This infuriated him. He and the man walked into the next room. I could barely hear them talking.

  I was alone. I pondered the world & the situation before me. My Cousin was talking very loudly with some man. I could barely hear it. "Hear how he talks about God? People are going to follow him". They seemed alarmed, as if crowds of people would flock to me & begin following me to God. They chatted a few minutes.

  The two men entered. They began slapping & baby punching me when they entered. They pounded on me about 2 minutes or so before My Cousin came in whereupon he promptly belted me hurling me across the room! SMACK! WOOSH! SLAM! He announce his hatred of me. He'd decided to hit me now because he, they were going to keep me & torture me for a few weeks & he wanted to give my wounds time to heal.

  Ya know what reader? I'm no longer in a mood to write this tale on 5-21-18. No such mood at all. So I'm going to quit writing this tale. I dedicate it & the lives of all the innocent children who died to The Michigan State Police. No need to thank me guys, I know you guys love love love praise.

  Whatever...

 

 

  I KNOW THEY EXPECT REMORSE... SIGH...

 

 

  My name is David Allen George and the title I've chosen for myself is Less Than Nobody. I state here and now that this story is true to the best of my ability. I'm not writing for fame, glory, nor pity. I've written this to reveal the truth, the plain truth, and the whole truth, nothing more. Keep your fame, I like being unknown, keep your glory, what could possibly be glorious about any part of my tale? And lastly, save your pity for someone else. I find the private pity parties I hold for myself to be more than enough pity for two lifetimes. Don't send money, just call a cop or two if you'd like to make sure that these guys who've been stalking me don't come to your town, to your kid's school and start bringing "pleasure" to you and yours "Child-Molestor Style".

  I know that police, prosecutors, families of the fallen, and even the loved one's of my attackers expect me to show remorse and they shall have it here. I could go on & on into a big flowery speech, but I wont. Instead, I'll sum up what I have to say to them in bold print in a short sentence that says it all. "I'm sorry".